|
COPYRIGHT 2002 Ehlert Publishing Group
"Look," shouted Mary Ann, pointing to the sky, "an airplane! That's the first one I've seen in a month!" Most people who live within five miles of a major metropolitan airport would probably welcome a sudden disappearance of air traffic, but as no one need remind you, the closing of Reagan International Airport was no cause for celebration.
The date was October 8th. Coincidentally, the last time we'd ridden our bicycles around Hains Point was September 11th. Washington's Beltway twitched like an impacted bowel that afternoon, clogged by thousands of suburbanites fleeing Capitol Hill, many of them wondering if they would ever see all their loved ones together again. And yet the Potomac waterfront was spookily quiet. Armed soldiers, who had barricaded the road to vehicular traffic, simply nodded as the occasional bicyclist peddled through. Across the river an acrid plume of orangeish smoke bore witness to the unthinkable events only seven hours earlier.
"If there were biological weapons on that plane," I said to Mary Ann, "we're already dead." I don't know one month later if I was joking or being serious.
Today makes four weeks since the attacks on our most prodigious symbols of American might. In that time, I've not flown anywhere, but have motorcycled a little more than 3,000 miles and spent eight nights on the road--a fairly normal fall schedule for me.
But the nation clearly...
Read the full article for free courtesy of your local library.
|
Bookmark this article
Print this article
Link to this article
Email this article
Digg It!
Add to del.icio.us
RSS
